Golden City [In Character]

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  1. [​IMG]

    CRIME 1

    The morning of Golden City started just like any other. People wake up and dress themselves, following their usual morning routine. Various shops opened as to sell some quick breakfasts to the hurried. The mail is gathered and sorted, while the newspaper is released and spread. Nothing out of the ordinary is mentioned in the Golden Times; the official newspaper of the city. Nothing that really draws in the attention of the average citizen, at least.

    The front page news isn’t all too interesting. Something regarding a heavy storm a few days back and the ravage it left. There is also a little story about lady Anabelle, heiress of the McAllister house, wishing for a closer relation between her and the citizens. Many disregard her claims as something only a spoiled brat would say that has no idea of the world. After all, lady Anabelle grew up inside of the Sky and has never stepped out of the Embryo like a true Foetus.

    The page that contains some small news and the weather forecast is interesting, however...

    *In the last paragraph under the head of 'weather' the first sentence should be; 'Due to the storms in the past few days the Embryo surrounding the Sky has been unstable.' Thank @Misaou for being so sharp.

    Though the predictions of today aren’t out of the ordinary, just a normal prediction of the weather seeing the season of the year, it also hides some secret messages. Whilst not mentioned, the Underground will be unbearably hot today. For they have to stoke all of the ovens to their full power. The warning that the citizens of the land shouldn’t dwell around the rosters is proof enough of how hot it gets in the Sewers. Even more interesting is the mention that the Sky is pumping a higher concentration of the Medicine into the air because of the recent turbulence in the air. They warn their citizens to stay inside, both as to avoid addiction, but also because of the generally unstable state of the Embryo. It is a warning many diligently follow along with the temporary curfew of ten (10) o'clock post meridiem (PM). This is certainly noticeable in the economy of the illegal traffic in Medicine. All of the dealers are seeing a collapse in their sales. It isn’t only for the good of the Sky that the turbulence in the air resolves soon!

    Other than that it seems that the Pigeon has been caught and locked up. Ironically the Featured Today section shows a fragment of a poem about a caged bird. Was this on purpose? A few sharp souls who notice this relation brush it off as a coincidence. However, when a certain invitation falls on the doormat of our protagonists it is soon revealed that this coincidence is much more than a mere ‘chance’.


    Our anti-hero recognises the style in which the invitation is sent. In very much the same fashion they had received an invitation much alike from someone called the ‘Game Master’. This 'Game Master had invited them to a game of sorts. For some it was an invitation to rouse them up, exciting them. For others it was mere confrontation, an invitation to proof themselves as the best, or it was a promise of sorts. The content of this first invitation are diverse, but the Game Master managed to get them all curious to their so called 'game'. However, the question is, will they allow themselves to be played? It is obvious that this is an elaborate set up for a game, but is it worth all that the Game Master had promised? Let's see what our 'heroes' decide to do.
    Sample used for the poem in the 'Golden Times' paper is; Caged Bird by Maya Angelou

    This role play has officially started now. Players may start posting.
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    #1 Nemopedia, Jan 10, 2016
    Last edited: Mar 8, 2016
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  2. [​IMG]

    - - -​

    One of the things Alona bought for herself as soon as found herself in a position that she could actually spend money was a desk. That was after the large bed with the dark blue sheets and the comfy pillows, of course, which was an absolute necessity as well as an absolute personal dream. When she had been small she and her brother had shared a room and their beds had been put next to each other as if in some miraculous way this would create more room for them to sleep in. It didn't. If anything it gave her less room because where as Alona was a neat sleeper, keeping herself confined to her own side of the bed, her brother was not. Generally he would hoggle up all the blankets and sprawl his ridiculous long limbs all over the mattrass, even on occasion hitting her in the face, so that any room that would have been for Alona was long gone before she would even fall asleep. When she would inevitably fade into unconsciousness it was often with the thought that one day she would buy her own bed and her brother would never be allowed to set one foot inside of it.

    The bed was thus priority number one.

    The desk was a close second though. And she had one now. A small one. A rectangular one. One of dark ebony wood with a shiny layer on top that glimmered in the morning light. The morning light that was also illuminating the numerous objects that lay on the desk, all neatly sorted. Writing utensils on the right, various paperwork on the left. In the middle lay an open dossier. With the desk came a chair. A fancy one with comfy cushioning. It wasn't fit for a king, but it was nice.

    Alona finished her sentence, placed her pen down and leafed through the previous pages. She yawned. It was boring. Boring information. Boring routines, boring jobs, boring marriage. Honestly, her interest in the Smith family had long since dwindled, but since her client still paid she would still do her job even if that meant going to that house again, or talking to the same people over and over again. She didn't know what this guy hoped the find and honestly couldn't care less, but she didn't think he would actually honestly find something. Of course, she had been wrong on the matter a few times before and besides it was easy money. She wasn't going to say no to easy money.

    Stifling another yawn she pulled the drawer open and unlocked the hidden compartment. To the world outside, Alona did most of the accounting for the shop up here. Her files that actually got her the money were obviously hidden. In this office and in some other places. Before she had finished putting her stuff away the door opened and Set's dark blond head came into view, peeking between the gap, followed by the rest of his lanky body. He was neatly dressed and had a schoolbag slung over his shoulder.

    "Paper," he said, holding up his right hand which indeed carried the newspaper. "You look awake."

    "Good morning to you too," Alona shot back slightly irritated, but nevertheless snatched the newspapers from his fingers as soon as he walked over to the desk.

    "They say coffee helps" Alona wasn't really paying attention to him, her focus on the paper. Seeing as he was mostly ignored Set continued in a drawl: "Anyway it says they're gonna hea' up those hea'ers real good this noon. Ain't going to be pretty tha'. I reckon-"

    Alona shot him a dirty look. "I will hit you," she said and Set laughed.

    "I'll see you around," he said in a normal voice again. "Do try to get that coffee."

    "Just get to your class," Alona replied and surely the boy - though honestly he was more like a man now, but she just didn't feel like actually admitting that - left the room, leaving her alone with the paper. A rather interesting paper with front news about the recent storms and... "The little bird got caught.... Again," Alona mumbled to herself as she studied the article. As if on a cue the door opened again and Set appeared once more.

    "Weren't you doing school?" Alona questioned.

    "Yeah, yeah, don't get your knickers twisted. Someone left a note for you downstairs." He dropped the thing on her desk. "Figured I would be nice and bring it up. Clearly I am not being appreciated here."

    "Oh, thank you gallant sir," Alona replied, her eyes on the note. "Your attentiveness is amazing. Now get out of here." She made a shoo motion and with some muttered goodbyes, Set left the room for a second time this morning. As soon as he had left Alona opened the familiar envelope and stared to the letters on the small piece of paper. Free the bird.

    Suddenly the message in the newspaper stood in a very different light. When the invitation of the Game Master had arrived she had been wary. Wary because apparently someone could very easily figure out where she actually lived. But along with that waryness came a familiar sense of excitement. The urge to know what this was about. To play this game because it was something she didn't know. It scared her that this Game Master could get her blood pumping. His invitation had used the exact right words, the exact right pull that she needed. She didn't like being played. No, she wanted to be the player and yet... if she was carefull enough she might just be the one to figure out who the Game Master truly was. The Golden City's biggest secret.

    Yeah, she would play. She would free the bird. And maybe she would solve that mystery. Of course, she was going to need help. Maybe it was time to look for some other players.
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  3. [​IMG]

    The day started as usual. At first taking a shower and getting dressed. Today he didn't have that much plans other than later checking on the Tatter Hat as well doing some 'chores' that he considered necessities. The first of them being to read the newspaper. This activity had of course the need for some coffee and some bread with cheese. The lack of other ingredients for other kind of sandwiches reminded Robert that he had to see to that. But three sandwiches with some cheese were a welcome combination with coffee as the man sat down. Taking his time to enjoy his breakfast, the mood of Robert started to drop a little bit.

    It was a slight nuisance that the ovens would be at full power at noon. Which made Robert decide he would later take a scarf with him when he would head out. Then there was some other news that attracted Robert's attention. "Ah, again. Seems that the little bird won't fly for another week or so, huh?" He mumbled, reading that the Pigeon was taken into custody. Discarding that little news as nothing but some amusement, Robert could only try to phantom what the Pigeon felt about it. Seeing his lack of interest as knowledge on the Pigeon, the man would cease his pondering to continue reading the newspaper.

    But as he furthered his reading, a frown would form on the man's brow. The situation regarding the Embryo wasn't really greeted with enthusiasm from Robert. The illegal traffic of Medicine was a rather lucrative affair for him and composed half, if not a bit more, of his income. After he was done with reading the paper, Robert would first finish the remains of his breakfast while he pondered. If the situation was temporary it wouldn't be that damaging for him. His savings could hopefully make him last long enough to see the situation reverting back to what it was. Perhaps it would be a good idea to store the Medicine he couldn't smuggle to stock for later? It would be better than just trying to do other methods, such as trying to sell Medicine at a lower price or risking more.

    The consequences of change in the Medicine traffic wasn't just in how he had to react to it. A lower - and hopefully temporary - income meant he had to cut down in his expenditure. While he would clean a bit up, Robert's mind continued to work on already listing what he had should likely lessen for the time being. First to mind came the fact he still was hiring the Grey Parrot to keep him informed about the Smith Family. It wouldn't probably hurt if he wouldn't know about their activities until the situation had reverted back or if he would be able to increase his income in a different manner. But somehow he felt it would be wrong. The information wasn't anything he could use other than to remember of his goals. What he wanted to plan for the future once he would've the resources. Though as valuable or motivating as information could be, it wouldn't fill his belly or help him when he would get ill.

    A soft sound behind him caused Robert's train of thoughts to come to a halt. "Good morning." His friendly greeting wasn't answered. "You know, I will be gone for most of the day. I imagine you can hold yourself entertained for a day without making a mess?" He calmly continued, but the target of his comments was too busy with his own affairs. That of starting his own breakfast that had been placed down in a bowl. Glancing over his shoulder, the man shot a look at the raccoon. The critter was clearly not paying any heeds to his words, but that was okay. The trashcan was held firmly closed by some rope. "Well, I am going. Don't try to chew through the rope, Richard."

    With that having said, Robert would get his coat and scarf. Opening the door, Robert lifted his right foot up as he was about to walk out. But his eyes caught the sight of a small envelop on the doormat. Frowning, the man would lean forward and pick up the small envelop. Glancing around, he couldn't see anybody that had likely delivered or placed the letter down. Stepping back and closing the door, Robert first inspected the envelop on any clue who could've send it. Then it dawned on him who could've been it. Opening the envelop, Robert's eyes showed a mix of curiosity and enthusiasm.

    "Free the bird?"

    The frown returned on the man's brow. For a second, he wondered what that meant. Was this some kind of riddle from the Game Master? A name that had made Robert at first chuckle, cause he considered it to be a prank. Only to grow more curious as wary. He tried to keep the location of his home and his ties to his siblings and uncle quite well in the shadows. Yet somehow somebody had figured out about his small family. The first letter had after all arrived there, for him. While Robert had back then managed to fabricate the simple lie that the letter was from an admirer and promising that she would likely later meet the admirer, to not provoke Belly - the more curious one of his two sisters - to investigate it further. Which had worked for so far. At least, he hoped it did. Though he had been quite wary, there was something to it. It was a challenge. One bigger than his usual activities. One that was more worth than information from the Smith family. Cause if one person knew about his personal life, it meant a danger to his sisters and uncle. As much as he loved a risk, a gamble, at times Robert had concluded that joining the game was also more than just self-preservation. It was out of protection for what little remained out of his family.

    Puzzled about what the Game Master wanted, Robert remembered something. "Ah." Folding the note, Robert decided to make a few changes to his plans for today. Wrapping the scarf tighter around his neck, Robert would this time head out of his home. If the Game Master wanted the Pigeon to be set free, perhaps Robert could try to see if he couldn't see if he could do so without needing to dig into his savings. Heading to the Tattered Hat, the man would continue his pondering on how to free the Pigeon.
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  4. [​IMG]

    Golden City: The Land || Penelope's Apothecary shop/store/building

    Once it was a night of restlessness. She had barely gotten any sleep or rather if she did sleep it wasn't peaceful at all. The stupid thing had been bothering her again. Damn tail always causing her problems. Sometimes her body would go through these phases where it liked to reject the metal that had been implanted in her body. But it was too late, it was a permanent fixture. For years, she had been trying to figure out a way to easier way to deal with the symptoms her body produced when it was rejecting her piece, but she hadn't come up with anything yet. She could only treat herself like she was sick. Antidotes here and there but never something that would cure her for good. On top of all that, her mind decided to think of a million and one things while she was supposed to be thinking. Like how her sales were dropping because of the damn storms in the Sky. She refused to just shrug it off and wait idly and hope the storms would end soon. Unlike some of the other dealers who just did what they did for the sake of money, she had several motivations to what she did. She would need to figure out how to tackle this little hiccup of hers. Still, brainstorming on a tired brain wasn't exactly the best thing to do.

    Yawning and pulling on her lab coat she smoothed her bed hair down before walking out of her room. Not bothering to check and see if she made up her bed or anything like that. But she rarely did that stuff anyway. Her sister, Tori, always got upset about that. Walking down the stairs, she smelled the tea before she saw it. Her sister was just putting it on the table along with the breakfast she managed to fix for them too. It was a good day since her sister was moving around, in a wheelchair, but she was moving around to say the least. She smiled warmly at her sister managing a quiet "Mornin' " before yawning again. "Good morning sleepy head. We need to hurry and eat our breakfast. We're running late. Your early morning appointment will be here soon." That's right, she had patient coming in this morning. She usually didn't have morning patients so she wasn't really used to waking up this early. Nor did she like waking up this morning. "Tell me why I agreed to this again?" She groaned as she sat at the table with her sister. Tori just laughed before they began to eat their breakfast together.

    When they were finished Penelope grabbed the dishes to clean them while Tori grabbed an extra plate of food. "I'm going to take this over to Gus okay?" Penelope shook her head while washing the dishes. "You spoil him too much. He's like a stray cat if you keep feeding him he'll keep coming back," Penelope said dryly. Tori laughed at her as she made her way to the door that lead to Gus's part of his store. "You're something else, but you can't fool me. I know you care about Gus too," Penny rolled her eyes as she started to dry the dishes. "Are you going to go give the old man his food or keep talking all day? I have an appointment to catch. " Laughing again Tori left to meet with Gus and Penny took a sip of her tea before getting set up in her office room for her appointment.


    "So tell me again, what happened?" Penelope asked as she examined the little girl's arm. It was discolored severely and had tiny lacerations all over. Frowning inched closer to her for a better look. Even lightly touching the bruised area caused the girl to winch in pain. That wasn't the worst part. The girl had dislocated her shoulder. Penny pressed her lips into a firm line looking the girl in her eyes. The girl looked away from Penny, trying to avoid her gaze. Giving off the feel that whatever she had done was serious and she was guilty. Obviously. "Emily, I need to know so I can treat you." That was a lie. Penny knew what to do but she was nosy so she wanted to know.

    "I was late to school one day. So...I figured...I'd take the cables--" Penny sighed, interrupting her a bit. "I-I had taken them before and it was fine. But this time, I thought it would be better to chain myself to the cable. It was going well till the darn inquisition showed up. Nearly scared me to death. I got so scared I lost my grip of the chain and well.." She held up her arm that looked like it had seen better days. "You're lucky you didn't rip it off. Idiot." Penny said knocking the girl on the head, not too hard, though. "Lay down" She ordered and the girl did so. She lightly pressed against her shoulders which caused the girl to wince again. "This is gonna be quick. But it's gonna hurt" Penny said softly looking at Emily. "Well, it can't be as bad as almost ripping you--AHHHH!" While she was talking Penny had pressed her weight down on her shoulder to pop it back in place. She then beckoned Emily to sit up again as she checked the shoulder. She then began to make a sling for her, not really giving her any sympathetic comments. She was stupid enough to get herself into this situation so she would need to suffer the consequences otherwise, she won't learn.

    When she was finished Emily's arm was in a sling. She handed her some cream in a circular container. "Place this on your arm every night. It should help with the cuts and the bruising. Now, wait out front. I'll be out soon with your price." The girl nodded following her orders. Cleaning up the office for the next patient was always a chore. Probably because Penny hated cleaning. When she was done with that she headed out. She rang the mother and her daughter up and was paid for her services. When she was seeing them out she noted the newspaper on her steps. Picking it up she made her way back to the kitchen, making some more tea. She sat down reading through it leisurely when something caught her eye. "Free the bird?" Earlier she had received an invitation to a game from this Game Master. None of her contacts knew who this person was but Penny had a bad feeling she was walking into a trap. Still, she was curious and she wanted to figure out what this game was. Sipping her tea she read the passage over and over again. "What could it mean?" she didn't need to rush. She could take her time trying to figure it out.
    Characters Mentioned:

    @Tyrannosaurus Rekt - August 'Gus' Graves

    NPC Tori Banks
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  5. I.
    Maxine groaned in pain as her intestines drained into the ditch she’d dug the night before, forecasting the eventual hangover she would suffer. She was naked from the knees up, her back resting against a rusted pipe, her face resting in her palms, and sweat traveling down her skinny frame. It’s so fucking hot… she thought, the gears in her head screeching their disapproval at being awakened. Scissoring her fingers open, she peeked at her legs in the light shed from a dusty wax candle. A large patch of hair on her left thigh was still gone, the skin still a marbled red, and a quick glance confirmed her beige canvas pants were still freshly modified with a scorched hole. “Ugh… I am such a fool, aren’t I?” she conceded to no one as she collapsed back into her hands and another gurgle of displeasure rose from her bowels. She remembered fragments of the night prior, but what stuck out most was the bright crack of her favorite oil lamp against her lap as she had stumbled into her home that morning. Thankfully, she’d been sentient enough to beat and strangle the fire, but dumb enough not to dress her wound; The lingering alcohol in her system was the only thing keeping the pain from re-igniting.

    Minutes past, and the knot inside her guts mercifully unwound itself. She wiped a stinging bead of sweat from her eye, hesitantly re-engaging the gears in her head. She realized she needed something to clean herself with, and reaching into the front pocket of her trousers, she found what she was hoping for. The newspaper had been fresh at five o’clock in the morning when she’d bought it, but after enduring a 5 hour ride rolling on her restless right hip, it was damp and torn. Without a second thought, she tore it into strips and removed what filth she could from her backside.

    Stashing the useable remnants of paper in the pipe’s seam, she rose up and fastened her newly-damaged pants with a simple brass-buckled belt. After kicking loose soil over the ditch, she picked up the candle dish, re-entered the main room of her home, and surveyed what she could by the dim light. The hole Maxine had chosen to live in was akin to the interior of a boot. She slept on a cheap straw mattress in the toe, had a small collection of what she lovably referred to as “shit” on shelves in the sides, and the pipe she had just defecated in front of was in the spur. Where the tongue and ankle should be in a regular boot, there lay two gigantic boulders with a ladder installed in their gap leading to a locked trapdoor. This trapdoor in turn led to a shack she had erected inside the hollow of a gigantic vertical “I” beam used to hold up the foundations of The Tube. It wasn’t clean, sleeping and working on hard-packed dirt, but she valued the privacy and security immensely.

    Setting the candle down on a rough bookcase lined with what appeared to be assorted manuals and note books, she opened a drawer and pulled out a red paisley bandana, which she proceeded to wrap around her injured leg. Moving on, she fished her hands into a bucket under a desk, rubbing them clean (her version of it, anyways) with a concoction consisting of ground pumice and saltwater. She paused in the middle of the room, scratching absent-mindedly at the thin scabs on her forearm, scanning for where she left her shirt the night before. She let her hands wander (her mind still insisting its gears could handle only one task at a time), and found her fingers habitually tracing an old scar above her small breasts. “57 Wes” was written in disfigured flesh across her chest, an artifact of her “initiation” into the Underground by a band of rowdy coworkers. The mark was supposed to read, “57 Westwood” but the brand the men had used on her had been hastily withdrawn when they realized the skin they were scorching belonged to a fifteen year old girl. She wasn’t sure if it was a twisted sense of mercy that had motivated them, or the memory of their own lost daughters, but regardless of the rough start her time working with them had been remarkable. They’d taught an orphan runaway like her how to keep Oven #57 stoked with prime fuel, and how to clean the vent pipes so the beast would belch fire with a consistency and flavor that made the Land’s Westwood district one of the most desirable places to inhabit sub-sky.

    “Quit getting distracted, Max,” she chided herself, snapping from her trance to resume the hunt. She spent several minutes untangling the blankets on her mattress to no avail, even going so far as to fold them and brush away the renegade pieces of straw that had leaked from the mattress. With a frustrated sigh, she wiped newly formed beads of sweat from her forehead, sliding her dark brown bangs to the side in the process, and turned her attention to her workstation. The table in question was littered with primer caps, paper wads, steel shot, and vials of various powder mixes. They all had homes, theoretically, in the shelves mounted above, but something about the controlled chaos inspired her. Spotting an oblong clump of cloth in the corner against a broken metronome, she snatched it up without hesitation, only to be startled from the dull thud that resonated from the countertop. Looking down to see what had fallen, she was greeted by the snarling maw of a cocked flintlock, its brass barrel glinting in the flickering candlelight. “Who left you like this?” she asked the pistol rhetorically, carefully picking it up and lowering its hammer in one practiced motion. Habitually she continued the inspection, flipping the frizzen open to check the pan for powder, greatly relieved to see it was still full. Her feelings of foolishness returned regardless, and shamefully she lay “Huxley” back in the mess of illegal business. “It’s only a matter of time until a dumb-ass drunk like you gets caught, isn’t it, Max? Is this who you really want to be? Is this who -HE- would want you to be? So fucking irresponsible you have to wonder if you shot anyone in the night? Give me a break...”

    With a solemn remembrance she slowly dove her shaking hands into a chest on the floor, producing an oddly-shaped orb wrapped in silk. “Charlie…,” she whispered softly as she uncovered a blackened human skull, “I’m so sorry...” She kissed the polished bone above the temple, in the same place she had prior to the owner’s death. He was the closest thing to a true father she’d ever had, and his death at the hands of the aristocracy had been a violent catalyst in the woman’s view of reality. He had taught her through his actions an undeniable sense of pride, brash courage, and authentic respect. Whether she had grown those characteristics in herself or not, she was too afraid to assess, but at least she knew good from evil when she saw it. For example, stabbing an old man to death for a crime he didn’t commit was wrong, and killing the corrupt overseers that stabbed that man, was right... wasn’t it? It had to be! Nothing could convince her otherwise; Nothing could make her question that in the end, she’d become someone he would be proud of; and nothing could abate the tide of sorrow and doubt that swept over her. She knelt in the dirt, overcome, weeping hot tears upon the head of the only person who she felt had ever really loved her.
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  6. [​IMG]
    ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ¤ ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ¤ ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇
    ♛⇣ location 」Malkovich Residence, the Sky xx ♛⇣ with 」NPC

    Pyotr stirred from his sleep, struggling to free himself from the weight of his comforter. His thin, sickly body buckled against the cool morning air. He donned a robe and made for the sitting room downstairs. There was no other noise aside from his heavy footsteps and laboured breaths, which echoed eerily along the marble staircase from which he descended. His joints creaked; every part of his body was frigid and aching. Even his eyes had a little red in them. As much as he wanted to crawl back into his warm bed, he knew it would be impossible for him to go back to sleep once he had already woken.

    As soon as Pyotr reached the foot of the staircase, his ears pricked up at the sound of crackling fire. The fireplace had been lit, although the embers were already burning low. Warmth enveloped him like a blanket, eliciting a sigh from his lips. Pyotr strode the vast expanse of the room with some urgency. He bent over the fireplace and stoked the embers. The fire grew bigger and hotter; the heat tickled his skin. It was a pleasant sensation. He rang the bell on the mantlepiece and seated himself on a leather couch, rubbing his hands together as he waited for the maid to arrive.

    The maid brought his breakfast: coffee (black; no sugar, no cream), three cigarettes, a matchbox, and a glass ashtray--all these, prepared on a grey salver. Pyotr lit his first cigarette. The smell of fresh smoke spread throughout the chamber; he inhaled it all with fervour, letting the stuff burn his nicotine-benumbed lungs. It gave him the illusion of warmth.

    "Would you fetch me the paper, my dear?" He requested the young daily, taking another long drag on the cigarette. The girl gave a small bow and left the room. Within a minute or so, she arrived with what was requested, and one other. The moment the girl reentered the room, Pyotr's quick eyes found the curious piece of paper in her hand.

    It was a letter. How rare.

    The girl handed over the newspaper and the note. Pyotr reached for them with some hesitation. He examined the letter first. It was written in a style that was all too familiar. Looking at it made him shudder, and this time it was not from the cold.

    FREE THE BIRD, it said. Pyotr turned the paper over but found that nothing else was written. What could it mean?

    He had received a similar message in the past from a self-proclaimed Game Master. At that time, Pyotr had wondered if it was blackmail, or some kind of threat. On the surface it spoke of an invitation to an elaborate game, but the writer was well-acquainted with the intimate details concerning Pyotr's life. They knew of his desire for vengeance and obsession with knowledge, and used these as bait to get him to join their game. They had succeeded. Pyotr had tossed and turned on his bed many nights since, trying to wrack his brain for answers (Who could the Game Master be?), all to no avail. He had waited for a second message, a second clue. And now here it was, but instead of giving him an answer it only sparked anew his curiosity.

    "Who sent this?" He inquired the daily. His face and tone betrayed no emotion, but deep within he was vexed. Concerned. Intrigued. Scared. "Did the postman say?"

    "No, sir. It was left in the mailbox with the newspaper."

    Pyotr faked a sigh. "A prank, then. Children are so easily amused by such nonsense, don't you think?" He threw the letter into the fire. "You may be excused."

    As the girl was leaving, Pyotr turned his attention to the newspaper, his mind reeling. He gave the articles a quick read, too concerned about the letter to give anything else his full attention. It wasn't until he reached the last two articles that something in his head clicked. The clues were so blatantly obvious at this point that Pyotr did not want to believe it. The news reported of the Pigeon's recent capture. Below that article, there was a poem about a caged bird.

    FREE THE BIRD, the letter had said in its familiar disorganised scrawl.

    This was the first task, he was sure of it. The game had commenced. But how would he play it? He supposed he had enough money to pay for the Pigeon's bail, but that would draw unnecessary attention to him. People would question his sudden involvement. No. He had to find some other means. If this was a game, there must be other participants. The Land and the Underground were teeming with criminals. He would seek them out first. It would be difficult, but it was worth a try. From there, he would decide what to do next.​
    #6 FieryCold, Jan 20, 2016
    Last edited by a moderator: Jan 20, 2016
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  7. [​IMG]

    { Meanwhile in the cells... }

    “Here.” Getting the paper thrown at her head Fanny woke up with a startle, her eyes opening a slightly as she grouchily peeked into the lightly dimmed room. From a small window, somewhere high up onto the wall, sunshine fell into the dark cage, casting long shadows of the other petty folk that got caught last night. Some regulars, like her, some new, and probably still wet behind the ears. Nonetheless, all them were pitiful people with little elegance or honour to them.

    Groaning to herself the Pigeon stretched herself out, rolling her sore muscles and joints, in the corner she had made herself comfortable at the night before. Some of the officers and regulars joked around how this was her corner, her ‘bird’ cage, seeing how often she ended up at this place and managed to hog up this exact position. The female couldn’t exactly deny it either, for she indeed always went straight for this piece of ground in the cells whenever she was brought over to the police station again. Even if it was already taken by another. She had found her ways around it.

    “What is this?” she yawned loudly while picking it up. Scratching her head ungraciously the female went on by letting her hand travel down to rub her stomach. Unashamedly she lifted her top in the process to show off her ribs, sniffing her nose in an unladylike manner. None of the regulars or cops seemed to flinch at this, having grown used to the way Fanny made herself at home. However, the new souls either flinched or whistled at her, depending on what they paid attention to, all which were ignored.

    “The paper of today, what else, birdie?” one of the cell-mates smirked at her in a condescending manner. The deliverer knew that look, she grew used to that attitude, and rolled her eyes. Smacking her lips loudly, as she did everything noisily, the ashen-blonde hit the man with it. “Oh, gee. I had no idea, Sherlock. I thought I was supposed to hit a fly with it.” She smirked back at the man as she hit him another time with the newspaper. All in good humour.

    “What’s so special about this anyway?” she asked, as she scanned it briefly. She didn’t read well enough to understand what was written there in the paper with a mere glance. Narrowing her eyes a little she leaned closer into the morning edition, slowly making out the words; ‘The Pigeon’. “Oh, hey, I’m mentioned!” she exclaimed happily before the paper was pulled out of her hands again.

    “Bloody illiterate, I will read it or we will sit here all day,” came the gruff voice of William. He had, as usual, lost his patience with the ‘uneducated’ folk. Fanny stuck her tongue out at the man as he indulged himself in the paper. As if she could help it that she only had little education. The other pretended as if he hadn’t seen the gesture, throwing the paper back at her just as sudden as he had taken it. “Nothing to get your heads up into the air for,” he sneered, returning to his wall again.

    “Ah, but I was mentioned! It must have been pretty big!” Fanny exclaimed proudly, scrambling up from her place as she excitedly crawled over next to the ‘educated’ William. “Please? Pretty please? I will give you a kiss if you tell me!” she begged with a wide grin on her face. The man only stared at her, his lips turning up lightly. Despite his grumpiness he did like the life inside of her. The time spend in this lowly ranked, nameless, jail passed by much faster if Fanny was around.

    “I can’t have you kiss me! I have a wife. What will I do if you fall for me?” the man exclaimed, thinking of finally settling down a score with the Pigeon. The female, however, already had her counter ready.

    “Don’t worry, I don’t like people smarter than me anyway!” she quipped back. To which the other stared at her with a raised brow. “Well, ain’t you going to have a hard time finding anyone,” was the retort which earned the bearded man a smack from the female as well and a hearty laugh from the rest of the audience. Even the cops amused themselves with their banter, leaning back at their desks.

    “Hey!” she huffed, but was grinning widely. She knew that the man meant no real harm in it, other than jabbing at her for the little education she had. However, how many of her status did complete their studies any more than she had? William really was one of the few rare cases, and see how he was wasting all these chances!

    “It was just an announcement that you're caught again.” William suddenly turned serious as he told her this. Fanny blinked for a moment, wondering whether this was a good or a bad sign before erupting in a loud cheer. “Haha! Seems like I’m gaining fame!” she cheered, but the other man shook his head. The female was either completely ignoring the fact that an insignificant story was put into the papers, or she didn’t realise the oddity of it. The Pigeon being caught was no strange occurrence and with no casualties in her catch, after her lawbreaking behaviour, there really was no reason to write about it either. Yet she had made it in the small news. Did Golden City really have that little to write about?

    "Sounds like the people will be missing me for a while. I can't blame them, I miss myself hanging on the cables as well," Fanny continued to gloat, holding the paper in hands again. Though she wasn't the fastest, or most understanding, reader she couldn't help but feel jabbed at by the poem below it. Was it coincidence, or were they making fun of her? Either way it made her feel troubled, but she didn't share any of it.
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  8. [​IMG]

    Location: Workshop-> Penny's Kitchen Company: Tori-> Penny Mood: I'm not drunk, you're drunk.

    Gus downed another glass of gin. He’d have a furious hangover in the morning, but he always thought better with a good, consistent buzz. He was hunched over his workbench, spectacles on the very tip of his nose. The screwdrivers looked so small in his hands like he was wielding children’s tools instead of adults. He almost had it. All he had to do was get the screw tightly wound into the coil and—he hiccupped. The screwdriver slipped and the small screw shot away from the work bench and to the wooden floor below. It was lost forever—as was his patience. In a move that was both childish and fulfilling, he slid the clock off the table. It landed on the ground before and there was a satisfying crunch of it smashing into several pieces. He didn’t need a clock, anyway. He was well aware of the time.

    Tori wheeled into his shop about that time, holding a tray of food.
    “Bringing me a midnight snack?” He asked, slowly buttoning the top two buttons on his shirt and retying his cravat.
    The young girl sat the tray down hard on his work bench. “Gus,” she said, her tone exasperated. “It’s morning time. Don’t tell me you were up all night drinking again?”
    “Of course not, Tori.” He fought down a hiccup. “I was also working on a clock.”
    Tori looked down at the broken mess on the floor and sighed. She leaned in and tended to his vest and cravat. He looked away, both tired and embarrassed.
    “You should treat yourself better, Gus.” She patted his now straightened ensemble. “Penny and I worry about you.”
    He brushed his unruly gray hair from his face. “I know, I know. I’ll do better, promise.”

    He took a piece of toast and started chewing on it. It wasn’t as if he was into self-destruction… he just hated being alone with himself. Working on things, reading things, constantly moving and going, it made life more bearable. When Penny and Tori had moved out, things had gotten painfully quiet. He’d loved taking care of those kids, but they were adults now. They could take care of themselves. Apparently, they could also take care of him.

    “You need to take a bath and a nap. You won’t be worth anything without some sleep.”
    “What would I do without you?” Gus smiled.
    “Drown in alcohol, rubbish, or starve to death.” Tori shot him quite the look as wheeled herself out of the shop.
    “I wouldn’t starve to death,” Gus grumbled into his toast. “I know how to make eggs.” So, maybe the two kids had taken care of him a lot when they were younger. He had to admit, he was not the best cook. They’d gotten tired of grits, oatmeal, eggs, or toast (all with a side of salted bacon.) Not that he could blame them. It was not the best diet for growing girls. They’d started cooking for him as soon as they were able to handle the stove in a way that didn’t make Gus fear for his life. He smiled thinking about it. He also hiccupped. He should get some water into his system. Maybe some coffee.

    He stood up and helped her with the door, holding it open long enough and wide enough for her to get through. She gave him one last look. “Bath and then a nap.”
    “Yes ma’am,” Gus said.
    Gus eyed breakfast and decided that it would be less dour with the paper and some mail. At least, he'd something to occupy his brain besides the crunching of the toast. He shuffled outside for only a moment, squinting hard and frowning at the general haze that the dawn brought. He slid back inside with a hefty bundle of news and correspondence. Gus took to devouring breakfast and reading over the paper. The weather was about as interesting as a cat fart. Yet, the bit about the heat vents caught his eyes. That was perplexing. Still, no one had contacted him about it. Hm. Well, Arthur Malcoms was not the only engineer in the Golden City.

    Gus sighed. The orphanage needed money. Of course, it did. That was the way of things. The rich did well, and everyone else petered by until they passed into an untimely fate. He may have stopped chewing when he read about the Pigeon and the subsequent poem that came after it. Odd that the two totally unrelated things would be so… related. He sat the paper down and milled through his mail. There it was—a note. “Free th(e) Bird.” Gus wondered if the Game Master thought themselves an enigmatic mastermind. This was about as puzzling as screwing a lid back onto a glass jar. Still, he had his mission, and he had his destination. Gus had never broken into the prison before. Usually, he fancied it to be the one establishment that was doing its job properly.

    Gus did take that bath, but he did not take a nap. Instead, he dressed in his usual suit but leaned more towards darker colors. Not that grayish hues would hide him in the day time. His previous intoxication had tapered off somewhat since breakfast and a soak. Still, he feared feeling miserable in the middle of this heist. So, he took another drink or two of gin. Penny would probably get onto him, but it was better than being cranky and achy during a mission.

    He grabbed all he had about the utilities around the jail and walked over to Penny’s shop. It was odd that she had chosen this profession. She was a smart kid. She could have done anything. Still, it was heartwarming that she cared for people—well and also gave them a lot of drugs. He tried not to be so judgmental of the latter. He did blow up buildings in his spare time.

    Penny was drinking tea when he entered. He had one large, rolled up map in his hand. As he approached her, he softly tapped the top of her head with it. “I see you got the same invitation I did. Sort of a ham-handed one, but I guess the Game Master thinks themselves crafty. So, I brought over some maps.” He smiled and unfurled on her table, covering up whatever else she had on the table. He rubbed his chin. Without even asking if she wanted to join him, he immediately assumed she did. “So, what are you thinking? Backdoor entrance? Front door? We could always make our own. I have a few high caliber explosives left over from that factory business that none of us know about.”

    INTERACTED WITH -> Tori and Penny, @Misaou
    #8 Tyrannosaurus Rekt, Jan 24, 2016
    Last edited: Jan 24, 2016
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  9. [ ooc: Anyone hungry for interaction, come forth! This is my test post for Jazz. Otherwise if not, he'll go to Penny's in the next post. ]


    [ The Land; 'Steamed & Hammered' Tavern The Streets ]

    "You do know it's early?"
    "Yes, Mrs. Carter. I am very aware."
    "Nobody drinks whiskey at this hour."
    "Well I do, so apparently I'm that nobody. Can I get the second glass poured for me or what?"

    The matron of the tavern, Mrs. Carter frowned in disapproval, but poured a new glass for the young man who sat at the bar, filling the round whiskey glass with amber colored liquid that had a strong smoky aroma. She muttered something about it being a third and not the second, but the hunched body that was nursing glass did not seem to pay her opinions any heed. Jazz was the only customer in the tavern at this hour, and he looked quite like crap. His eyes were ringed darker than normal, indicating that he had skipped sleep the night prior, and there was a bruise on his left cheekbone. His clothes were tattered, but that was not really anything unusual for an Undergrounder. Except if you knew the young man in question, who seemed to be always just a tad bit more better dressed than the other Rats; his clothes had less holes, were not covered not so badly in soot and he did not smell even half as hideous as the others from the sewers. Whenever questioned, Jazz pointed out that a prostitute's son learns a trick or two about keeping up hygiene even in the poorest of conditions. If it were not for the slightly dazed expression that was quite default for an addict and overall rough personality typical for an Undergrounder, and maybe not for the blue mohawk and the piercings, one could have almost thought he could pass for an Upper with just a poor income. But only almost. The ones who knew what to look for knew instantly that he was a Rat. A bit different kind of Rat, but still just a Rat. There was just something about Jacquez Roux in the way he carried himself, like he was proud despite being an Undergrounder that made being in his presence far more tolerable than the rest of the Rats. And in fact, many of the Uppers actually liked him. Like the Matron of the Steamed & Hammered, Betty Carter, for example, who let the said rat frequent her tavern whenever he decided to show his face above ground.

    He smacked few coins on the desk and muttered absentmindedly as he scanned the newspaper with half interest; "Just... leave the bottle, will you? That way you can tend to the breakfast instead of me. I might be a Rat, but at least I know how to pour my own whiskey."

    "Yes, I'm sure that is but just one of your many talents." Mrs. Carter deadpanned dryly as she put the half full bottle on the table and scooped the money into her pocket.

    "Ouch, that's harsh, Betty. I love you too, you know." Jazz grinned over the newspaper and leaned his chin on the palm of his hand. Do not get them wrong, Jazz and Mrs. Carter, or "Betty", went couple of years back and their relationship was actually quite good. Mrs. Carter was past her fifties, a heavy smoker and it could be heard from her raspy voice, and overall behaved like she was a bit stale with life. Kind of like the beer she sometimes sold. Her sense of humor was dry and sarcastic, and she always seemed just a tad bit livelier when Jazz came around, and they bantered in a playful manner that tended to appear less friendly for the other customers.

    "Yes, yes. Like you love everyone else in this tavern every time you visit. Save it for the next naïve girl that walks in from that door." Mrs. Carter said as he dropped the coins into the cash register and walked back to the kitchen to prepare the breakfast for the early risers like Jazz who had been lodging in again overnight. However, before Mrs. Carter disappeared into the kitchen, she stopped; "Oh, and sweety? Do something about that face of yours, you're about as black and blue as your hair. You're scaring all my customers away," and added before stepping inside the kitchen.

    "What customers? You don't even have any..." Jazz muttered as he looked around in the tavern that was empty at this hour. No upstanding citizen came to drink at such an early hour, but as it was, Jazz was not exactly an upstanding citizen. Not when he was an Undergrounder, a prostitutes bastard, and a drug user with who knows what kind of past behind him. And even less if anyone knew what he had been doing last night and how he had gotten the bruises. It would be probably in the newspapers in few days though. He could already imagine it; "The Infamous Black Jackal Strikes Again!" He really liked the sound of that. It had a nice ring to it. But what could he say? Some people were just asking to be robbed when they flaunted their wealth up in the Sky like they did. Jazz just generously answered to these requests and cleared their pockets, safes and valuables. And sometimes, even their gold teeth.

    With a sigh, Jazz gulped down the rest of the glass, settled the newspaper back on the desk and simply took the rest of the bottle with him upstairs, sipping it on his way to his room. He ought to change clothes and go to Penny's to get something for his aching body. It was not just the cheek that was bruised. He had taken few hard punches in the stomach last night, as the gig last night had not exactly gone according to the plan. There had been this one stubborn mothefucker that just had refused to go down. Twice is his size, built like a bear with an aggression of a bull and fearless like a goddamn lemming. Jazz was quite sure that the guy had been on something, because it was as if he had not even felt some of the stabs and cuts of his knives, and in the end he had looked honestly surprised when he toppled down and died. It had been a close call for Jazz, but it was not the first one. This job did come with high risks after all, but the profit was worth it if you played your cards right. Now he knew that it seemed like the new trend was to hire some big addicts as guards and pump them with something nasty that dulled their senses. And common sense as well, it seemed. Whatever it was, Jazz decided he should probably steer clear of that stuff. Either way, thanks to the Bear-Bull-Lemming-Guy, he was now aching all over and if one looked close enough, he was walking around a little with more care to avoid pain. Which was why he was quite eager to drink whiskey to dull it.

    Once in the room, Jazz saw something that had not been there last night once he opened the door. Well, it was not exactly that he saw it, it was more like he stepped on it and heard the rustle of paper under his feet. Moving his feet, he came into realization that he was standing on a note. And since crouching down was painful as it was, he read it where he was standing.

    "Free the bird...? The fuck's that supposed to mean?" Jazz muttered and kicked the mysterious note away from the door so nobody could see it before closing the door behind him. Once actually inside and the door sealed, he bothered to lean down to pick the damned thing up, but not without a pained groan. Studying the piece of paper, he recognized the style. He had gotten one of these before in the past. It was from the one and only person who had figured out his double identity in the whole city; the Game Master. Whoever he or she was, they were scarily sharp. But it had been awhile now, and no inquisition had come to gather him up yet, so Jazz had figured that giving him to the authorities had not been what the Game Master would profit from. They wanted something of him, but Jazz was not quite sure what it was... But whatever it is, it sounded like another game. And Jazz did love a good gamble.

    "Fine then, let's free some birds, I guess. But what birds?" He mumbled to himself as he walked around the room, unbuttoning his shirt to change it to a fresh one, "Parrots? Seagulls? Eagles? Do I need to break into a zoo for this?" He frowned and considered it, deciding against the idea with the shake of his head as he threw the new shirt on himself with careful slow movements, "Or maybe some... pigeons." He stopped as one article from the newspaper earlier came into mind. The Pigeon was in the jail. And then the weird poem. What if...?

    Surely this was no coincidence.

    Hurriedly, he finished changing his clothes, shaving whatever pathetic morning stubble he had growing (he could not grow a beard to save his life) and washing his face. Jazz left most of his stuff in the room, locking the door behind him. He had paid for the lodging for couple of days, and Mrs. Carter knew that he did not like it that the room was being disturbed at all when he was staying over, so she did not come in to clean. And Mrs. Carter knew that by now Jazz took good care of the room he was always staying, so she did not need to bother, and she knew not to ask any unnecessary questions. They had a good thing going on here. Which was why the bag with the black jackal mask under the bed was safe and sound while he was gone.

    Like a hoodlum that he was, Jazz exited the tavern with the quite legally bought whiskey bottle, strutting down the streets like he owned them and taking swigs of the whiskey. He had a nice little hum in his veins and at least he was not hurting as much anymore that he could not walk his back straight. Sure, he was still sore as hell, but at least he did not have to walk around like he would have aged fifty years overnight. But soon he would have something else to dull his pain. Whenever he got beaten up, Jazz would always head to Penelope's Apothecary for something to treat himself with. The girl working the shop was young, but knew well what she was doing. That, and her prices were reasonable. So that would be his first stop for today. Get himself patched up and then figure out how to bust little girls out of jail. Which was ironical, because this far Jazz had always done his best to avoid prisons at all costs, but now it seemed like he had to figure out how to get into one. Golden City was yet to see a thief eager to get in jail, but if this was truly hinting to what he thought the clues were hinting at, they were soon about to.

    Characters mentioned:
    NPC - Betty Carter, Steamed & Hammared's Matron
    @Misaou - Dr. Penelope Banks alias The Scorpion
    #9 Wicked, Jan 24, 2016
    Last edited: Jan 24, 2016
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  10. [​IMG]

    - - -​

    Fifteen minutes later Alona was outside, a bag slung across her shoulder. In it were a dark grey cloak and some papers, stuffed in a nice folder. She probably wasn't going to actively use that first item since the day was proving to become hot, but she took it anyway. One never knew what one could encounter on the streets in the Land. With confident stides she made her way through the crowds that had formed on the streets now that businesses had started to open. Her destination was clear in her mind.

    The Raccoon had reached out for her quite a while ago, she didn't even know the exact number of months. He wanted information on one particular family which lived in the Sky. So Alona had looked into it. They had recently moved there and were settling down. Father, mother and daughter. They seemed like a standard loving family. There was nothing much on them really. Father had a constistant job. Mother was doing fine. The daughter apparently used to have an relationship before they moved to the Sky, but that had passed. There had been some trouble with that, but nothing too remotely interesting. The family was, all things considered, pretty clean.

    She told the Raccoon that. But he wanted to keep tabs. Alona did her best not to put too much thought into it, but she couldn't help but try and figure out why this guy had such showing such interest. What kind of vendetta did he have against these people? It fascinated her and was probably half of the reason she kept meeting up with him. Today was their appointed meeting day and that was good because that meant she could also subtly ask if he had received the same letter. If he had to free a bird as well and if that happened to be the same bird.

    She hoisted the bag further on her shoulder as she kept up the pace only to slow it when she saw a... let's say rather familiar face walking towards her. With his blue mohawk and his way of walking that made it look like he owned the place he was not that hard to miss. The whiskey bottle in his hand was a clear indication of what his early hours of the morning had been like. Alona couldn't help but grin and positioned herself so that she was right in his way, hands on her hips. "You," she said assuming that he would halt, "look like shit. Not enough booze in the bottle, Jazz?" she asked him, sending him a meaningful look.
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  11. [​IMG]

    Golden City: The Land || Penelope's Apothecary shop/store/building

    Penelope's frown deepened as she read the morning paper. Beside the paper was the note that said 'Free the bird' and her original invitation from the Game Master. She had ignored the paper for a bit trying to examine both notes and figure out what exactly the Game Master wanted. Not getting anywhere she turned her attention back to the paper only to find out exactly what he wanted her to do. That damn idiot got herself locked up again. Which would explain why she hadn't been contacted by her yet. Penelope wasn't one to worry at the first sign of things going awry but still. She could say she was concerned. Penelope knew the pigeon pretty well. They've known each other for quite a bit as well. She had managed to acquire her services as a courier as well as a spy of sorts. Penny could honestly say that the reason her business ran as smoothly as it did wasn't only because of her workaholic and obsessive nature, but because she had people like the pigeon to rely on. Hell Penny and Gus even helped make Fanny more efficient in her work when she rode the cables. Penny doesn't just help people because she has a soft heart. Despite what some people think. Fanny could be trusted, and that's exactly what Penny did, she trusted her.

    This wasn't the first time Fanny had been caught and locked up, but this was the first time Penny had to bust her out. Penelope rubbed her temples sighing. This was just a mess. Her sales were dropping and her business partner was captured and she had to go save her. How exactly she was supposed to do that she didn't know. It's not like she could just waltz in their wave some money around and get her out. Not that she would want to waste her resources on something like breaking Fanny out of jail. Penny was so lost in thought she didn't notice Tori wheel herself back into the store and head to her room. Penelope stared at the paper longer hoping for answers but they just weren't coming. In frustration, she crumpled up the paper and threw it across the room. Just when she did Gus opened the door, sauntering in her store with heavy footsteps. Her almost orange-ish amber eyes narrowed at him while she took another sip of her tea. He had a rolled up piece of paper under his arm, which he took out and hit her on the head with. Her gaze shifted into a glare as she silently watched what the man was doing.

    “I see you got the same invitation I did. Sort of a ham-handed one, but I guess the Game Master thinks themselves crafty. So, I brought over some maps.” He said with a smile as he spread out the map over her table. “So, what are you thinking? Backdoor entrance? Front door? We could always make our own. I have a few high caliber explosives left over from that factory business that none of us know about.”

    Penelope placed her cup down and crossed her arms. "Excuse me? I don't recall asking for help, so what do you think you're doing? Don't be so selfish," she sighed and got up from her seat to take her empty cup over to the sink. To be honest, Penny appreciated him coming over. She wasn't getting anywhere really. She didn't have a plan, besides she'd feel better with someone there as opposed to her working alone. This was just one of the few times she appreciated company. Usually, she didn't have a problem doing things on her own. She walked back over to him leaning over the table to take a look at the map, "Why don't we do both? You can use those explosives near the front entrance to cause a diversion then we can enter from the back and get the pigeon out of there. " She looked up at him to see if he agreed with her plan of action.
    Characters Mentioned:

    @Tyrannosaurus Rekt - August "Gus" Graves alias The Badger

    @WishfulNemo - Fanny Winterson alias The Pidgeon

    NPC Tori
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  12. [​IMG]

    [ The Land | The Tattered Hat --> Streets ]

    If anything, Robert wasn't happy. The news that he had read this morning was confirmed by one of his employees. A good fellow that went by the name Patrick. While the man wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, he had his skills. And loyalty, a good trait to find in employees. Not easy to find and most often not cheap either. Sitting in his small office in the Tattered Hat, Robert was pondering. Of course he had to find a solution to get his income back up again. Or at least think of another way to make sure he wouldn't have to deplete his savings. Considering to invest more into human trafficking, Robert's thoughts were getting mixed with what he also had to do. Grumbling, the man picked up a mug containing some water, as he decided to first think about the Game. What did he know about the Pigeon? Little to nothing about her personality. All he knew and could remember was that she was indulged into the cables. Patrick had informed him that he had seen her once and that she was faster than a bird. Though Robert took that with a bit salt, so to say.

    But as he thought further, he considered it wasn't really that much important to know personal details about the Pigeon. It was important to get her out of jail and that was it. Though it wouldn't be an easy thing to do. Just getting somebody out of a very secured building. Even as he considered to try to smuggle the little bird out, his talents and that of his employees wouldn't be enough. Taking a sip of his water, he knew that he would need others. But who? Probably somebody or even a few people he could try to trick into cooperating with him. The only problem was that he wasn't sure who else was in the Game and how competitive they were supposed to be. Would there be a price other than perhaps knowing who this elusive Game master really was? There was already a risk to it. The Game Master knew quite a bit, that he or she had already proven. It wouldn't surprise Robert thus if he would ever figure out that other renowned criminals would be participating in the game, to protect their own interests. Or perhaps there would be a large reward for the winner in store.

    Chuckling as he realized he was digressing in thoughts, Robert tried to think of a plan. What could he do? He was a smuggler. Getting material and people in and out was his forte. But how was he supposed to break into a jail? Violence would only get him in trouble and as well meaning that his employees would ask for a bigger price. And if anything, he was already forced to be careful with his money! Hopefully the price of the game was a huge sum of money, cause right now it was only going to cost him.

    But anyhow, he could get people in and out. Perhaps a subtle diversion would thin out the security in the jail. Of course that had to be something outside the jail. If he were to make a diversion inside, it could only attract more guards. And the formula was quite simple : the more guards, the harder it would get. Perhaps some little fire would make the jail flush out some guard personnel? Robert continued to ponder on a possible approach that wouldn't be too risky or expensive, but in the end he always came out on how to get the pigeon out of the cell. Without information about the jail - as it was a place he had tried to stay out - all he could do was speculate. Loving to take a gamble now and then, Robert wasn't interested into sneaking into jail and then getting imprisoned as well. Getting up, the man made a decision. He had to hire in the Grey Parrot. She had information and he could always twist the truth a bit. Exiting the general store, telling the two present employees - Frank and Patrick - that he was going out for a walk Robert did let out a sigh.

    "I really hope that at the end of the day I get some good news." He muttered, putting on a small top hat. For a moment, Robert threw a glance around him as he stood outside. His right hand went into the pocket where he had his wallet. "And I hope I can stuff you soon again, good ol friend." Robert grumbled as he would walk into the direction of the pub where he often had meetings with the Grey Parrot.
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  13. [ ooc: Alright GC wake the fuck up! Chop chop, let's not die, it's not healthy! xD PSA: Fishbones - Jinx's canon (so when the color is in pink Jinx is talking in a different voice as if Fishbones were talking) ]


    [ The Land; Steamed & Hammered The Streets ]

    If this was a fairy tale then the birds outside the tavern's window would be singing their morning song in all their magnificent glory. The sun would be shining it's rays through the glass window bathing the sleeping beauty below in golden light. The blue haired princess would wake up looking flawless like she had just gotten her picture taken or something. She might even open her window and greet the birds in song with all the grace and elegance that a young girl in such a story should have. How wonderful it would be if this was all a reality.

    Too bad fairy tales were for those babies that couldn't help but shit on themselves and cry until someone cleaned them up. Jacquelyn Roux was far from being one of those.

    There were no birds singing, no sunshine pouring through the windows, and Jinx was sure as hell not getting up to sing(and for that the people on the street thanked her. She was tone deaf, poor thing). Instead, the soft hustle and bustle from downstairs could be heard as those in the tavern began to wake up and head downstairs for breakfast. The light that poured through the windows was grey and cloudy and Jinx was tangled up in the sheets fast asleep, bedhead drool and all. (Right, very attractive) Usually, when she was super tired she would snore, which she was doing. Jinx and her crew had a late job last night and didn't finish everything they had to do until well past midnight. There was nothing wrong with being thorough, and she certainly wasn't complaining last night because it meant more fun for her but Jinx was one of those people that needed her sleep otherwise she would be one grumpy kitty when she woke up, today being no exception.

    The blaring ring of the alarm clock ripped her mercilessly from her peaceful sleep. Groaning she rubbed her eyes, which felt so heavy that she couldn't even open them. Just a few more minutes was all she wanted, yet the damn thing kept ringing. Not giving a single care about her wants and desires, "Please" she whimpered as she fumbled around to turn the cursed thing off. Nothing was working though as she was just clutching empty air. She only had herself to blame, always pushing the clock as far away from her as possible before going to sleep. Just so that she could wake up. Groaning again she gave up with trying to shut the thing up and just opted for muffling the sound, maybe she could fall asleep that way. She grabbed another pillow and clamped it around her ears hoping it would mute the noise. After a couple of seconds, she realized this too was futile which just pissed her off to no end. Reaching across the bed, her face still planted in a pillow, she raised her arm in the direction of the clock and fired a couple rounds from her gun in the damn thing.

    Jacquelyn laid still in bed for a few more minutes, the annoying ringing finally gone, still, much to her dismay, it would seem even with the peace and quiet she was already way too awake to go back to sleep. Slamming her hand on the bed a muffled "Fuck!" replaced the silence in the room. Defeated, Jinx sat up on the side of the bed, swaying a bit as her eyes adjusted to the light in the room. She sat there silently for a few minutes before turning and staring hard at Fishbones. Her coral colored eyes narrowed as she continued to stare, "Who are you lookin' at?" Jinx snarled, her tone low with sleep and irritation. "Y'know, it's not nice to break things that don't belong to you," Jinx snorted, rolling her eyes and in a mocking tone answered the statement, "Y'know, I'm not a nice person. So shut up would ya? Whoever heard of a gun talking anyway,"

    Finally having the energy to stand, she got up from her bed headed to the bathroom to wash up for the morning and get dressed. The usual routine was slowed down today simply because she was so tired. She threw on some slacks and a black and red polka dotted sweater that was too big for her, so it slipped off her shoulders a bit. Compared to the Underground it was freezing as hell on the Land and in the Sky. Still, whenever she had a job she would suck it up and wear her uniform, besides she would eventually forget about the cold once she was fired up. Still, the initial realization was always the worst. She ran a brush through her hair before braiding it in two pigtails per tradition of hers and throwing on some boots. That's when Jinx noticed a note on her bedside table, closing the distance she went to go pick it up. "Free the bird?" Jinx frowned and threw the note away, not in the mood for riddles. She did recognize the format of the note as something this mysterious fella called the 'Game Master' would use. Jinx headed downstairs, a few people were scattered around the tavern enjoying a breakfast prepared by none other that the matron of the tavern Mrs. Carter. Yawning, Jinx made her way to the bar, her preferred place of sitting, not because she wanted a drink but just because she could be easily seen and she liked carrying on conversations with Mrs. Carter.

    "Off to a nice start huh? Whatever you broke you're paying for it."
    "Add it to Jazz's tab"
    "Aren't you just spoiled rotten?"
    "Damn right. But it's not my fault, blame my brother."
    "You twins will be the death of me I swear"
    "About damn time Granny--Ow!"

    Jinx rubbed her forehead and glared at Mrs. Carter, who had flicked her in the middle of her head. Don't be fooled, this woman hit harder than one would originally think. "I done told you about callin' me Granny child." She said with a stern tone even though a smirk was gracing her lips. Jinx was introduced to this lovely ray of sunshine by her brother. He had found this place before her, which she was thankful for. That meant no more restless nights at the Mercenary Guild. There were times when a job would run late and she wouldn't be able to head back down to the Underground to sleep. So she would be forced to stay at the guild which was a terrible place to sleep. Someone was always up making noise, not to mention the only beds were the ones in the infirmary part of the building and people were usually always in those. So finally tired of hearing his sister complain Jazz told her about his little secret hideout, which Jacquelyn will be forever thankful for.

    While Jinx was lost in her own thoughts, Mrs. Carter brought out Jinx's usual breakfast, fried eggs with a side of bacon and a biscuit and some coffee. Reaching into her pocket, she handed over the money to pay for her breakfast and started to eat while reading the paper. All of it was pretty much boring except for the poem about the birds and the article about the 'pigeon' being locked up again. Even though she was tired, excitement bubbled up within her. Breaking in jail and freeing a fellow criminal? Uh, yes, please. She would love to see the look on those law enforcement members faces when they realized their little prized possession was no longer to be found. She'd have to tell her brother right away. Besides, Jazz was the sneakier one out of both of them, Jinx could make a good decoy, though. She hurriedly wolfed down her breakfast before quickly hopping out the bar stool and heading towards the door, taking the paper with her. "I'll bring this back!" she shouted to Mrs. Carter before running out of the store.

    It wasn't until a few minutes of wandering around did she realize she hadn't the slightest clue of where to look for him first. Sighing to herself she continued to wander round the streets, weaving in and out of people's way as the streets became more crowded the later it got. One would think he shouldn't be too hard to find, he head blue hair for crying out loud. Still, Jinx knew her brother and she knew how well he could hide in plain sight. It was a bothersome skill he had. Fortunately, the odds were ever in her favor today as she spotted him talking to some dark-haired woman, a bottle of some sort of alcohol in his grasp. She nodded, if she wasn't sure this was her brother before she was dead sure now. Who else did she know that drank liquor this early in the morning?

    Without a moment's hesitation, she quickly dashed over to him, ignoring whatever manners she might have possessed and interrupted the conversation he was having with the woman. "Jaaaaaazz!" Jumping and latching herself onto him she squeezed him happily before planting both of her feet on the ground. Her brother was a foot taller than her exactly, to this day she believes he robbed her height in the womb, but she didn't care that much. Shoving the paper in his face she bounced around happily, "I'm so excited! Aren't you? I wanna get this party started already!" She clasped her hands together, just thinking about how much fun she was going to have shooting things today. She then tilted her head to the side frowning a bit, "Why the hell do you look like death? Like you look terrible, not that you looked any better before, but holy shit, you look awful" Jinx said placing her hands on her hip, shaking her head at her twin brother.
    Characters Mentioned:

    @Wicked - Jacquez "Jazz" Roux - The Black Jackal
    @Fieryfly - Alona Cary - The Grey Parrot

    NPC Mrs. Carter
    #13 Princess Misaou, Feb 29, 2016
    Last edited: Mar 1, 2016
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  14. [​IMG]

    Location: Penny's Kitchen -> Outside the Jail Company: Penny Mood: Man, I miss punching people.

    Penny had a way of looking at him that meant she wasn’t actually perturbed at him. Gus always just smiled at it. He’d seen it a thousand times when she was younger. She’d pout, stomp her foot, puff her cheeks out, and lay into him—hard. She didn’t mean it though. At one time he humored her. Now he just smiled.

    “That could work,” he said to her suggestion about the explosives. “Actually, I had an idea. What if we take out the power to the jail and then explode the back? That way we can make sure to not only scatter everyone, but let Pigeon know we are on our way.” One of the high-powered explosives to the main junction box should do that, easily. Yet, they would expedite getting it back up. They would have to move fast. He explained to her the plan in brief blurbs, drawing over his map with his pen. All the while, he stole some coffee, added some bourbon, and drank away. He’d regret it later today, but that would be after the Pigeon was free.

    They prepped their equipment. Gus grabbed some head lamps that he used in the Underground to fix things in the darkness. He handed her one. “It’ll make you a target, but it will also illuminate the way. Maybe we can use it as both a distraction and a light. You ready?” He asked, giving a passing look to her scorpion tail. Gus liked working with Penny. She was never as vicious as the other criminals. He was never the sort to kill, and he liked it when others spared lives. That, and she’d practically grown up with him. There were still moments that he’d see her do things, small things, which would remind him of when she was younger. Maybe it would be the way she twisted her knee during certain thoughts or drew her lips tight during others. Sometimes it was the way that she spoke to Tori or the way Tori spoke to her. Gus hated that they had grown up, but he couldn’t be any prouder.

    They arrived at the jail soon enough. Gus told Penny to position herself and gave her the explosive for the back entrance. “You know how to use these, girly. I know I taught you well.” He reached forward to muss her hair but hesitated. She was not a child. Instead, he patted her shoulder. “Give me a few minutes. When the power goes out, set the ignition and go.”

    Gus walked towards the junction box. No one was guarding it. That was either a good sign or a bad one. He pulled bolt cutters from his canvas satchel. He gave a quick look left and then right before he snapped the lock. It fell to the ground with barely a clatter. He stuffed the bolt cutters back into his pack and stowed the lock in there too. Many people would fail to notice the open junction box if its lock wasn’t laying prone in the street. He opened it and glanced over everything. It was possible that the jail had a backup power source. Yet, it wouldn’t cover everything. Well, it shouldn’t—anyway. Gus didn’t want to under plan. This would be a good distraction, and it would hopefully draw attention away from him and Penny.

    He pulled the explosive from the box. It was copper with several mechanical parts over it. It looked like a square, squattish owl. All he had to do was place it and tap the owl’s head. It would then start a thirty-second count down. Gus would have to high-tail it out of there. He could handle that. He was old not enfeeble.

    “Sir,” a voice erupted from behind him.
    Gus internally cursed.
    “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to turn around.”
    He did as the voice commanded to see a young police officer standing before him, caressing his gun holster with his hand.
    “Sir, may I ask what you are doing?” the young officer asked.
    “Of course,” Gus said, smiling. “I’m here to do repairs on your junction box. And I see that one of the wires is about to burn out. I was just replacing it. It’s a quick fix.”
    The officer narrowed his eyes at Gus. “Can I see your permit?”
    “Ah, silly me, of course you can.” Gus reached into his jacket pocket. He was wearing a three piece suit, as he usually did on these things. It didn’t help to dress like a criminal while trying to sabotage a place.
    The officer flinched at the hand movement until Gus pulled a piece of paper out. The officer relaxed.
    “Here you go,” Gus said, handing the paper the young man.
    He released his hold on the gun and looked over writ. “Sir, this says you’re only allowed to—“
    Gus punched him hard. The boy stumbled back and fell on his ass. The older man immediately took the offensive and kneeled over the officer giving him one more solid punch. The young officer’s eyes rolled into the back of his head.

    Gus sighed and scooped up the paper. Fortunately, it was a forged script. It lacked either his name or Arthur Malcolms. Gus had used it to get into a few of the Sky’s villas. Hopefully, the young officer wouldn’t remember his face. Usually, they didn’t after a hit like that.

    He went back to his explosive, twisted the owl head, scooped the young officer up, slung him over his shoulder, and ran towards the station. He dropped the officer in a pile of refuse along the way, the crowded alleys good for hiding everything—even unconscious bodies. The explosion went off right after that. The power flickered, dimmed, and went out. Gus smiled. It was time to get back to Penny.

    INTERACTED WITH -> Penny, @Misaou
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  15. [​IMG]
    Underground The Owl's Nest; Mortimer's Home / Shop

    Knock knock. "Mortem? Are you awake yet?"

    He groaned as he forced his eyes to open. The old man had just managed to fall asleep when he heard the rather loud and obnoxious knock on his door. Upon opening his eyes, Mortimer was greeted by the sight of what caused his current state of sleep deprivation: a mechanical arm. Now, Mortimer, has made several mechanical limbs by now that he could probably create an arm without him even drafting. However, this one was different. The client wanted an arm that could amplify his strength to be made. Normally, this was never a concern for Mortimer. As long as the limb worked properly, then the customer was satisfied and so was he. At first, Mortimer underestimated the work given to him and pushed the starting date of his drafting to a week later than what he had originally planned. He was that confident that he would be able to finish the thing within the set deadline of two months. It was only when he sat down, started drafting and actually made a prototype did he realise that perhaps his task wasn't as easy as he thought it would be. It was now one month since then and he was already down two prototypes, both of which failed. What now sat on his desk was the third.

    The loud knock shook him from his wandering sleepy thoughts. "Mortem! Open the door please!" Hearing the voice again, Mortimer finally recognised who it was exactly that was knocking. It was one of his more annoying clients, someone he would've rejected had it not been for the insane amount of money his limb was figured to cost back when the assessment was first made when he first came to him. Mortimer couldn't exactly recall what his name was though at the time. All he knows is that it started with a J. James? Johnny? "Mortem please! It's me Jesse!" Ah! Jesse. Jesse Foley. Mortimer couldn't figure out what the hell the man was doing there knocking on the door and waking him up at such an--Ah. I see now. His eyes had drifted off to the clock that rested on the wall across him. He didn't need to read the numbers, how the hands were angled was enough, to realise that it was time for him to open shop. At least he knew that the guy wasn't being rude. Yet he still didn't understand why he came. From what he could recall, Jesse's leg wasn't scheduled for a tuning till the next month.

    Letting out another groan, Mortimer slowly got up from his place on the sofa. It was where he slept before he managed to add the room upstairs and it is where he continue to sleeps despite having a reasonably comfortable bed--as comfortable as he could get in the Underground--for him to sleep in. Mortimer simply found himself preferring the old worn brown couch over it.

    Mortimer walked over to the door and opened it. When he did, he saw the distinct ginger hair that was evidently Jesse, no other client of his such an offending hair colour. "Finally! Oh and these are for you. The paper is from me, bought it before coming here, the paper was something I found pinned to your door. No need to thank me." The man said as he pushed the newsprint for the day along with a piece of paper that was folded in half before walking past Mortimer, a habit that the man possessed which Mortimer originally found to be very annoying and rude but have now come into terms with it. The guy was his customer after all, and his home was technically a shop. Once the man had fully stepped in, Mortimer gently closed the door and followed him in. While Jesse made a beeline for the sofa that Mortimer had been resting on just moments ago, Mortimer went on ahead and deposited the papers on the table beside his latest work. He leaned on the table and 'conveniently' blocked his project from Jesse's view before addressing the man. "What brings you here so early Mr. Foley?"

    It took about merely ten minutes for Mortimer to figure out and fix what was wrong with Foley's leg. It was merely a loose bolt, nothing too serious that the entire leg would fall off. Though it did worry him how the bolt even came loose in the first place, but Mortimer shrugged it in the end. What his clients did outside of his shop was none of his concerns. Once Jesse Foley had left, Mortimer grabbed the newspaper that Foley gave him and crashed on the sofa. Sleeping was out of the question now that he was aware of what time it was. So he fought back the sleepiness and started reading the paper. News about the weather was the first thing he focused on. Looks like it'll be hotter than normal here Underground. I doubt I'll be seeing anyone else come in then. The orphanage can use the donation? Mortimer scoffed as he read the title. Everyone here could use a donation. Then there was the news about the Pigeon. "Caught yet again" he mumbled to himself as he skipped the small article and proceeded to the poem under. It was curious how it seemed fitting considering the article above it. Deeming that he's read enough of the paper, Mortimer tossed it to the side in the empty space beside him on the sofa. He was about to proceed with working refinements on the limb on his desk when he saw the piece of paper that Jesse had claimed to be pinned to his door. Curious as to what it said, Mortimer picked it up and upon unfolding it, he immediately knew who it was from. He had received a letter of the same style not long ago; he highly doubted that two different individuals would be behind them. It was the Game Master, he was damn sure of it. The cut out letters on the paper read, 'Free the bird'. Mortimer thought back to the news. Surely the Game Master couldn't mean her? But he knew that it had to be her; it had to be the Pigeon. After all, there were no other birds that he knew were captured. Mortimer sighed and folded the paper back before pocketing it.

    Looks like I'll be closing up shop for the day.
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  16. [​IMG]

    Golden City: The Land || Penelope's Apothecary Shop > Jail

    When Penny's mother and father were killed she remembered how hopeless she felt in that moment. She didn't want to believe that the people she loved were gone and were never coming back. She didn't want to believe she would have to live the rest of her days without them. Just that very morning they were joking around and having fun. How could her world be turned upside down in an instant? It wasn't fair. But more than she remembers the denial and hopelessness she remembered being terrified. Her sister was sick, how was she supposed to take care of her? She was but a kid herself. She wasn't prepared for this. And Victoria, what was she supposed to tell her? How was she supposed to explain to her that she watched their parents die? How could she break her sister's heart? But more than anything, what Penny remembers best is the feeling that came after all the other ones subsided.


    Penelope was furious at the world. She hated the people that did this to her family. She hated the man that was in charge of those thugs that killed her parents. She hated the law enforcement for not pursuing the case and essentially letting these murderers walk free. She hated people and how they gave her false pity and condolences. Like they knew what she was going through yet they could go home and return to their families. She hated God, if there was one, for not saving her parents and lastly, she hated herself for being so weak she couldn't do a damn thing to protect the people she loved the most. That feeling of rage soon turned into bitterness and vengefulness. It's what gave her the strength to push on each day. That somehow she was one step closer to getting rid of those devils that took everything away from her.

    When Gus stepped in to help raise both Penny and Tori, Penny didn't want to believe there was any good left in people. Yet here he was. She wasn't sure she could trust him, he did after all just appear out of thin air. Why Penny and Tori of all children? Penelope never had the courage to ask. Nonetheless, she was nothing but grateful for him helping her out. She would've lost her mind if she had to do it all alone. There's nothing Penelope could ever do to repay the kindness the man bestowed on her and her sister. He essentially saved their lives. Still, she didn't want to disappoint him, just like she wouldn't want to disappoint her father if he was still alive. Penny remembered how scared she was when she let him in on her secret, that she was a criminal. It took a while because she had to make sure she could trust him. But she was terrified to tell him because she didn't want to upset him. Only to find out that he himself wasn't as "saint-like" as he made himself to seem. Still, all these years and Penelope knew more about the man than he would probably think.

    It's true, Penny wasn't like all the other criminals. Senseless killings here and there. She wasn't soft though that was for sure, but she definitely wasn't as hardcore as the others. But Penny was prepared to kill every last person down to the fucking cat, if necessary, that were involved in her parent's death. She would follow up the chain of command and wipe everyone out, friends of the people if need be to get her revenge. She didn't care, she'd long since given her soul up to harbor the grudge she still holds today. Gus probably doesn't understand the extent of her feelings but if he did she was positive he would be upset with her. “That could work,” he said to her suggestion about the explosives. “Actually, I had an idea. What if we take out the power to the jail and then explode the back? That way we can make sure to not only scatter everyone but let Pigeon know we are on our way.” Penelope nodded, turning and taking off her lab coat and hanging up. Running upstairs to her room she changed into her scorpion outfit which consisted of a black hoodie, black shorts with a slit in the back for her tail, boots, and the half mask that covered her face from her nose down. While on her way back down the stairs she pulled the mask out before slipping on her gloves that basically had built in brass knuckles. A gift from Gus not too long ago. Her boots as well were tinkered with to hide a hidden blade should she need it.

    "It’ll make you a target, but it will also illuminate the way. Maybe we can use it as both a distraction and a light. You ready?” Gus said handing her a headlamp. Penny looked at it, twisting it around in her head before nodding, "Sure, let's get this thing over with. I'll be taking the ally ways, you can leave by the front door." She said cooly before heading out the back door, her footsteps light.


    They arrived at the jail soon enough, Gus coming to a stop and Penelope emerging from the shadows. Her mechanical tail didn't make a sound but moved from side to side while she stood beside him. He handed her one of his homemade bombs then turned to give her a grin, “You know how to use these, girly. I know I taught you well. he patted her shoulder, “Give me a few minutes. When the power goes out, set the ignition and go.” Penny rolled her eyes and pulled her hood up to cover her head. "You don't need to tell me what to do old man. Make sure you don't get caught and ruin this for all of us. I can handle myself." And with that, with quick speed she dashed off back into the shadows to make her way to her destination. She waited for the lights to go out as Gus had said and sure enough they did. Not as quickly as she had thought but they did. It was now her turn. Placing the bomb by the door she twisted the head and ran back and covered her ears. A few seconds later the boom sounded and she dashed in.

    Placing the headlamp on her head she made her way around the jail. She knew she should wait for Gus but she really just wanted to just get this over with now. She quickly jogged through the hallways when she picked up voiced not too far from her.

    "What the hell is going on?"
    "We don't know sir"
    "Well find out! Someone get these damned lights back on"
    "Wait, did you see that?"

    As soon as the person finished that sentence Penny was off. Dashing towards them, she whipped around her tail lunging forward and smacking one of the guards into the opposite wall. "Fuck! I can't see" That was good news for Penny. A guard swung at the light and Penny ducked then punched him in the gut then whipping him back with her tail. The benefits of having a mechanical tail, it hurt her enemies like hell. Penny was just getting rid of the people around her not really targeting any one person over another. She slammed a fist into somene's temple here, her foot in someone's face there. It was all pretty much equal treatment. She looked down at the bodies on the ground, still alive just knocked out. She was sure Gus would find her interesting "bread crumb" trail and reach her quickly.
    Characters Mentioned:
    @Tyrannosaurus Rekt - August "Gus" Graves alias The Badger
    @Nemopedia - Fanny Winterson alias The Pidgeon
    NPC Tori
    #16 Princess Misaou, Mar 12, 2016
    Last edited: Mar 13, 2016
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  17. Getting to the Prison

    A Collab between Gerontis and Fieryfly in which the Grey Parrot and the Racoon enter the fray

    The Deal (open)

    Leaving Jazz with the unknown woman who had just appeared around his shoulders Alona continued her morning walk in a fast pace. No thoughts were given to the other woman. Sibling, mistress, lover, she didn't care. Her relation with Jazz himself was debatable, he could do whatever he wanted, she could do what ever she wanted. That was how they did it. Besides there was a job for her and it wouldn't take long to arrive.

    She and the Racoon met in a small uninteresting cafe at the intersection of two uninteresting roads. Despite because dull and boring, Alone liked the cafe. They had decent food and their coffee was close to perfect. It was always the most unremarkable of places that got the little things right or got the best of secrets. Two things that interested Alona.

    After she walked in and steered herself to their regular table, ordering two coffee as she walked past the counter, she flopped down on one of the wooden chairs and placed her bag before her on the table. A quick brush through her hair and a close inspection of her nails followed before she began looking around. Business could start.

    The door of the establishment opened as Robert glanced around. Opening his jacket as he walked into the cafe, the man spotted the Grey Parrot. As always she was on time, which was what he did appreciate. Nothing more annoying than not able to rely on somebody who could be on time. Not that he always was perfectly on time, but that wasn't the point was it? Walking to the table where she sat, a friendly smile crossed Robert's lips. "I hope you've been well." He said as he took a seat on the opposite side of the table. His right hand went already to the pocket of his jacket, where he held the payment for the new information she would have for him.

    "Good as always," Alona said, her eyes on the man now sitting before her. The waiter placed two cups of coffee down at the side of their table and left them alone. It would be suspicious to sit in a cafe and talk while not ordering. "Milk and sugar," she said pushing the cup over to him with her left hand. The other remained firmly on her bag. "As you like it." A slightly cocky smile appeared on her face. Oh, she knew his habits well by now.

    After a sip of her own coffee she shot him another look. Debating her options she studied his face. "The news tells us that the Pidgeon has found herself in a cage again," she said then as she opened her bag and pulled out the file. "Such a difficult... bird."

    Glancing at the coffee, Robert nodded as he mumbled thanks. Hearing her state as he liked it, Robert softly scoffed. Raising the cup, he tilted his head slightly. "Guilty." Blowing on the surface of the warm liquid, Robert thought about what she just said. "Its a pity, don't you agree? I mean, difficult as the stories describe her, it is a shame to leave such a wild and free spirit behind bars." He was wondering if she was a player. If so, then he assumed that they were playing now just a bit of hints. He wasn't sure after all what the game all entitled. For all that it could, it could mean that they would need to kill each other. A nasty business he wasn't fond off. "Then again, handling birds was never much an interest." He flashed a smile as his right hand pulled out a small sack with coins. Placing it on the table, he would pull his hand back.

    "A shame indeed. The Pidgeon proves herself quite valuable at times." With her left hand she moved away from the cup and towards the money. She peeked in the sack for a moment, gauging the amount of coins that were inside. Should be about the amount she was demanding of him. As she put the money away in her bag she pushed the file forward. "You will find everything I have here." She didn't tell him that it was not much, that it was boring information, that there was nothing new. It wasn't her job to necessarily judge the information.

    She leaned back. "If I were to want to free the bird, would you be interested in a part of the hunt?"

    "Most likely, I was considering several times to hire her. Am not sure though if my occupation and line of work would be compatible with her... wild spirit." Robert said, the last two words spoken out out of amusement, not mockery. As she took the sack, he took the file. He didn't look into it or did anyhing more than a glance. She had proven herself to be trustworthy. That was good enough. "As always, I appreciate it." He said, his voice bit softer. Picking up the previous normal volume and tone, Robert answered her question. "Oh, that sounds thrilling. Hunting a bird in order to free it. The poet and adventurer in me are jolly excited." The man said. "Only wondering why you would want to go on such an adventure."

    "And why wouldn't I?" Alona threw back at him. She pulled her back away from the table and took up the coffee. Bringing the cup to her mouth she did not drink, but instead spoke: "Information is in everything and as you know I always collect my own instead of relying on the information of others. My own eyes prove much more reliable. Regardless of my reasons, which are not for you to understand, I would appreciate the help." Finally she took a rather large gulp of the dark liquid. "The bird is behind heavy bars and by myself that would prove difficult," she said after she swallowed.

    He took a sip of the coffee. Nearly burning his lips and tongue in the process. Visibly pondering on her words, Robert then casted a friendly smile. "How about a deal. I will come and try my genuine best to help you. In exchange next payment is reduced by 75 percent. You get help and I get to pay less next time." The man offered. He couldn't hide the fact he was both amused as interested. Not that he did consider he would be able to keep his status as a player long hidden for her. It was a game he would lose, but didn't mean he couldn't try to enjoy it.

    Alona laughed. It was soft yet unpleasant without any real humor behind it. Her eyes still peering from behind the cup at him, were cold and her laughing died down. "No deal." Her tone was even. She needed that money. As much as she didn't believe the inromation was actually important what was important was the fact that she risked her neck everytime she made her way into the Sky to find that information. "Seeing as you are aware of this caged bird you would seek your way to the prison regardless and I would merely have to tag along. I would buy your help for... 10 percent off. Just to be nice."

    Waiting for her reply, he figured that she wouldn't go with it. Hearing however her counter-offer, Robert frowned for a second. Lowering his own cup, his free hand moved to his chest as his facial expression showed that he seemed almost hurt physically by her words. "10 percent off? My dear, that is a most unfair trade. Haven't I been a most loyal customer? How about we meet halfway? 60 percent." He replied, hoping that ignoring her comment on the Pigeon would just buy some time. Likely not, considering how his luck had been these past few days. Damn economy.

    "No deal," Alona repeated. She had now put her cup down and her brows knitted together in a frown. "I am already offering you a discount which is something I never, I repeat, I never do." She stressed the word by tapping her hand on the table. "I am asking for you help as much as I am offering you mine. That alone should be enough. That I am even offering you the discount is because we have worked together for awhile now and I have been spending an awful lot of time hanging around a young Sky girl. Take the 10 or leave it, go home and find yourself another player to work with."

    Taking a sip of his coffee, Robert would frown as well. He realized when he had lost, but wasn't that happy with it. "Oh, bullocks. Alright, alright. If you weren't such a good friend of mine," Robert said, a clear mild mocking tone present, "but 10 percent it is. Though then I suppose you want to head out now? I had some plans myself, but the problem is that they all need some finance. Something I am not keen on after all." Pausing, the man considered his words for a second. "The goal is to free the Pigeon. Yet, no conditions were given on what if there was no attempt made to free her or what would be gained in doing so. Other than perhaps suffering the consquences if a wrong approach is going to be taken."

    "Indeed." As soon as the Racoon had given his confirmation of the deal Alona had already pushed her coffee away and had made a grab for her bag. Pushing her chair back she got up and shot him an expectant look. There was nothing they actually needed to do in this place any longer. "Scouting is my first idea. I know the layout of the prison generally, but not nearly close enough. To formulate any sort of plan we need more details. We need information." The cold demeanor of before was gone and the friendly tone had returned. "No point in waiting."

    "Waiting for the economy to stop giving me a pain in the arse would be nice." Robert mumbled after gulping the content of his cup away. Placing it on the table, the man got up. "Fair enough. I was considering to ask one of my lads. Problem is that even with information, the matter of approach will be vital. I am not keen on going in loud and with a bang. Rather prefer that we take a subtle approach." He told her. Glancing at the table, he then made a gesture as in 'ladies first.~'

    "Waiting won't do you much good," Alona said as she ignored the gesture, but walked past him anyway and stepped outside into the crowd again. She checked her bag once more and searched with her hand for the jacket she had stuffed in there before. There was something she needed hidden in the pocket of that jacket. "Though I agree, the mattet of approach is vital, the approach will depend on the information. Let's just see what we find when we get there and then find the most quiet method to sneak our way in."

    "Same as giving that low percentage. Thieving is illegal, you know?" He mumbled, as he shot her a sideways look. Becoming serious again, Robert thought for a moment on how they could approach the situation. "Is there perhaps a way you can get information on a ward? I mean, there are other players I imagine. Perhaps some might already try their luck and we can just be there to snatch the prize together. As the good friends we are!" Robert suggested, though he doubted his smuggling skills would be much of use if it was just them two and not some more preparation with tools and deals.

    "The laws are very clear to me," Alona said with disinterest. She let the Racoon blabber along a bit about plans and other players. Alona did do planning, but she did planning when she knew about as much as she could really know about the place or person she was invesitating. Planning ahead for something that she hardly knew something about wasn't what she did. So she hummed and nodded a bit along with the Racoon's words and urged him to move towards the prison.

    Going for a silent but more casual approach the two would find themselves nearing the prison as a certain explosion went off.

    "Maybe," Alona said, picking up the pace, "maybe your good friends are already there."

    "Good grief." Robert mumbled as he also started to pick up the pace. "You know, I was kidding when I mentioned going in loud and with a bang." Worried, he was hoping that the approach and doings of others wouldn't make it just worse for them. What if every bloody criminal was now trying to storm the prison to just free the Pigeon? He wondered what then the best plan would be. "If it is getting any noisier, every bloody cop in the district will flood towards the prison."

    "You joke too much." With a swift move Alona pulled the jacket out of her bag and wrapped it around her shoulders. Stuffing her arms in the sleeves and pulling the colar up, she placed her left hand in her pocket. Now clad in dark grey she cruised to one of the prison's entrances. Darkness had settled over the building and her eyes caught a figure moving inside. Her left hand pulled out a mask. No need to get her face recognized on this job.

    "Let's get going anyway. Plans seemed to have failed us."

    He grumbled something softly as response, yet he would remain watchful. As they approached the entrance, Robert glanced around to see if trouble would be approaching them from behind. Glancing over his shoulder as she stated that they should get going anyway, Robert let out a soft sigh. Already he had a complaint at the ready on the tip of his tongue. However, he figured that he could complain later. Right now, he figured that he would need to be extra careful as he wasn't prepared to go masked and more protected of being recognized.

    "You know, a mask doesn't suit you, dear. You got such lovely eyes..."

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    • Nice execution! Nice execution! x 1


    { At some distance away, out of sight… }

    The first to move were the Badger and the Scorpion, not wasting too much time dawdling around and chatting unlike the rest of the troupe that the Game Master had summoned. By now everyone surely should have understood the intention of the letter sent. However, not everyone seemed to be persuaded in the same way. A miscalculation, perhaps? The overseer surely hoped not, that would spoil the game much too soon.

    The first pair were already well into the execution of their plans by the time the Parrot and the Racoon arrived. The odd pairing of the Badger and the Scorpion were planning to make it a swift job. As it was meant to be.

    Bombs were already exploding and smoke escaped the building. The few pedestrians who happened to pass by this building, set in an unfortunate neighbourhood, had looked up in shock, pointing at whatever was happening. That was bound to catch attention, not to mention, chaos as well. The masked figure chuckled a little at the sight of the people pointing and running, yelling to the rest to get out. They were lucky that there were only few out there on the streets at this hour.

    “Oh, no, no!” the Game Master mused, head shaking in disapproval. The Parrot and Raccoon were making the brave mistake of going into the heart of the fire. Surely they would know that once they entered everyone could be a possible enemy, right? Hopefully the Scorpion and Badger knew how to hold their fists, but the spectator found more amusement in the thought of them fighting each other through the smoke, taking the other for a foe.

    But it wasn’t only four who had decided to move. The figure was pleased to find that so many of them had responded to the invitation. It would make the game a little more interesting to have so many surrounding each other, running around and trying to prove the worth of their names.

    The Fox that had been wandering around, trying to be an observer in the streets and mingling with the crowd, whatever there was, had decided that this was a sign to act. Sneakily and stealthily the male had faded himself away into the shadows as the commoners ran past him, trying to flee for their lives. Hopefully he would know better than to run straight into the smoke.

    The Ferret as well had finally decided to sniff out the air on the Land. The Game Master had worried the most about her, thinking that the little thing might not be interested, or wouldn’t understand the clues left. However, they were all proven to be baseless. The female had showed up and joined the party just like the rest. A few more…

    “Tut, tut, late. Such bad manners,” the watcher mused, watching how the Mantis and the Jackal paved their way towards the police station. As usual it was done in quite an elaborate fashion, though, the pair had to do little to attract the attention with their flashy hair colours and bold moves. Especially the female half, but even that didn’t matter anymore with the explosions happening. They better move fast now. Any longer and their fun might be all taken away, or worse…

    Arching a brow the viewer followed the sight of the Owl arriving. So there was someone even later than the couple before? The figure sighed a little, wondering how many others were going to nestle themselves into the rather big group. It was a good thing that the Inquisition had been sent out to another mission today, or that it conveniently happened that today this particular jail wasn’t as heavily guarded as it usually was. Such an uproar surely would have gotten themselves an engagement with the forces, but the mask was kind enough to keep it easy for the first round.

    Though, by the looks of it now it might have been too easy. Adjusting the mask again the Game Master wondered if this would insult the players. Perhaps, most likely. However, they would soon wish that it had stayed this way, but by then it would be too late to back out.

    @Princess Misaou, @Saint Allison, @Fieryfly, @Wicked, @FieryCold, @darkflames13, @Tyrannosaurus Rekt & @Gerontis

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  19. [​IMG]
    Land Alleyway; Outside Prison

    A frown settled on his aged face as he saw the smoke in the sky. That can't be a good sign. People started running past by him. The frown on his face only settled in deeper. Mortimer grabbed the arm of one of passer bys and stopped them. It was a young lad who looked like he was in his late teens. Surprise was painted all over the young man face as he looked at Mortimer. A second later the surprise left his face and an irate look settled in. "What the fu--" Before he could finish what he was saying though, Mortimer cut him off. "What's happening? Why are you all running?" The lad clicked his tongue at the old man's question. "Explosion at the prison." Mortimer's grip on the lad loosened. He got his answer, the boy was free to go. "I suggest that you run away--that is if you still can old man." And the lad fled off towards the general direction of the people.

    Mortimer stared at the fleeing boy's back for a while longer before turning his attention back towards the prison. It would seem odd for him to continue onwards, though he doubted that anyone would notice with them all frantically running away and whatnot. Yet just to be safe, he went turned on his heels and went along with the general direction of the crowd. Mortimer kept close to the buildings and slipped into the first alleyway he found. Once he was settled, Mortimer leaned against the building's wall and started to think. His earlier plan of slipping and slipping out of prison was now ruined by the theatrics of the explosion. He shook his head disapprovingly. Whoever thought it was a good idea to cause an attention attracting explosion was certainly out of their mind in his opinion. He forgets that not everyone operates in a stealthy manner like he prefers to.

    Having an assessment of the current situation from a vantage point was the first step for him. It was always the first step no matter what. Before he could act accordingly however, he suddenly felt a presence nearby. Someone was there with him in the alleyway. But why would there be anywhere there with him? Any common folk would be running away like everyone else, unless.. it was another criminal, and possibly even another participant. Mortimer pushed himself from the wall he leaned on and turned to face whoever it was. He recognized him at first glance. "Pyotr" The old man was familiar with the boy. Pyotr had lived with him for a while back, pestered him to teach him how to kill and then... and then he disappeared. Good riddance was what Mortimer said aloud, yet inside he knew that wasn't what he felt. Mortimer worried about the lad. He would never admit it though. "What are you doing here? Don't tell me... The Pidgeon?"
    Interacted with: Pyotr Malkovich (@FieryCold)​
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